


to hum through the hours of dying

by KatieBirdie



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (implied--adrien doesn't actually appear), Gen, Introspection, Metafiction, Plagg Cares (Miraculous Ladybug), Plagg-centric, Stream of Consciousness, acknowledging the imbalance in the mircaulous even just a little, drabble of sorts, honestly idk what this is ur just going to read it ig, kind of anyway, seriously why is the black cat so comparitively weak??, weird narration decisions again u've just gotta read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23060518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBirdie/pseuds/KatieBirdie
Summary: Ladybugs are indispensable. Black cats are not.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Plagg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 94





	to hum through the hours of dying

Here’s the truth: Plagg is not a very good god. He isn’t like the other kwamis, selfless and deeply concerned for humanity, good and bad. To them, the protection of those bipedal beasts is the end all, be all. Don’t get him wrong, he certainly understands the whole fuss; he just doesn’t care. Humans are nice, specific inventions of theirs are even better (oh, glorious camembert— he could sing odes about it), and some choice few people are pretty damn worth it all, but if they all went up in smoke and dust? Well, he’d be a bit sorry, but that’s the way the dice rolled. Blame it on his status as kwami of destruction, if you must. 

(Kwamis’ state of existence is a messy, complex thing. To pare it down, it goes something like this: the powers of the zodiac and the lower levels of the miracle box, to put it shortly, never existed. Not until humans came around and started thinking, anyway. Then, and only then, did they come into play; before they were only potential, hovering in the pockets where reality didn’t quite make it. Creation, destruction, and change, though? Oh, they existed, but that doesn’t mean the kwami did. Kwami are to Ideas as pools are to the oceans; a condensed, localized speck of power, not even a tenth of a tenth of the real deal. But they’re still the same thing, in the end. When Plagg says _he_ was the one to kill the dinosaurs, he isn’t lying— he’s simply stating a very particular version of the truth.)

This isn’t to say Plagg doesn’t love his chosen, or anything. He loves them just as much as Tikki or Nooroo or all the rest. It’s just that he knows the end to this story; it’s hard not to know, when it’s played out in front of him again and again and again and again. It’ll happen with the current chosen and it will happen to the next. The story is this: ladybugs are indispensable. Black cats are not. And when death comes knocking on a ladybug’s door?

Well, someone has to take the fall. And ladybugs are already red enough.

(Here’s a funny little joke: despite technically making almost all of them, humans still find ways to misunderstand how the kwami work. If they were thinking, there would be three levels to the miracle box. Four drawers, two drawers, one drawer. The punchline is this: Nooroo isn’t transformation, he’s _change_ . And creation and destruction? They’re bound to the whims of change as much as anyone else. But those monks were so, _so_ certain— so why correct them? It’s better that way, in the end. After all, the most powerful miraculous is a far prettier prize than some rinky-dink pin on the lowest level. Maybe the monks had the same thought; none of the kwamis thought it prudent to question.)

Still, this chosen would be a hard one to lose. Adrien was… bright. Optimistic. Plagg groaned and griped all day long about it in between shoots and school and bites of cheese, but the truth was that it was a nice change of pace from his usual sort. Destruction tended to entice a certain style of person, after all. At best his chosen were the broody, loner type. At worst— Well. Violence for a good cause is still violence. Plagg is used to it by now. And that’s not even accounting for the brief stint in the 1800’s when he was lost. He’s not sure he’ll ever quite forgive Fu for that one. It’s a moot point, anyway; the trouble with binding magical contracts is that they make arguments with your Master rather hard. Fu was kind, but he was raised in a temple that didn’t mind utilizing that contract, and humans liked mimicking their authority after a point.

(Here’s another joke about humans and the miraculous: they like to say the Black Cat and the Ladybug are equal. Now, creation and destruction— _those_ are equal, much as people don’t seem to like that fact. But the miraculous? The Black Cat is not the Ladybug’s partner. It’s the _weapon_. It’s the sword, the gun; the bomb, the nuke. A tactic, another card in the strategist's deck. To reiterate: black cats are not indispensable. 

Little known fact: the Black Cat miraculous didn’t just exist before the nine lives jokes. It created them, too, paradoxical as it is for the cat to create. Once upon a time, there was a little ladybug in Europe with a little black cat for a knight in noir. It doesn’t matter when, and it doesn’t matter who. What matters is that this little ladybug’s loyal cat made a single wrong move, then— 

Poor little ladybug had to get a new knight. And then another. And then another. And then— well, you know the joke. Let’s not bother with the punchline.

It’s never been very funny, really.)

Back to the point. Adrien is a good kid, as silly and oblivious and passive as he can be. Plagg has dealt with a lot worse, after all. So when he dies (because they always die; because, to reiterate—) Plagg certainly won’t be happy about it. But the thing is— he thinks, very secretly, that maybe this kid will last just a little longer than the others. It’s a hunch, a meager little hope, balanced on the Ladybug’s shoulders, but Plagg can’t help to believe in it. Because even while this Ladybug wields his chosen, when she directs his blow with steely certainty, she smiles at him too. It’s the sort of smile that makes a promise. No Ladybug has promised the Black Cat anything in a very long time. So sue him if he thinks that maybe, maybe, this Ladybug won’t let this Black Cat be another tactician’s loss.

He’ll never say any of that aloud, though. Fate has a nasty habit of listening in.

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this weird little plagg-centric thing stuck in my head for a while, so here's me unsticking it and putting it here.
> 
> idk man


End file.
